and prevent infections. I was also taught how to handle broken limbs and give blood plas- ma with narcotics. The army did a good job in preparing me, but nothing can prepare you for the real thing. Whole books have been written about basic training. An enormous amount of work is forced upon new soldiers in an intense peri- od. All of it is intended to build discipline, strength, and character. One of the most important of these is an instant, unquestion- ing execution of any legal order. That is what the constant drilling is all about. During basic training, I got letters from my family. Harry started one letter, “Hiya Jerk,” and included a phone bill with the nota- tion, “Do you want to give Mother heart fail- ure?” I guess I was homesick. Basic training came to an end as abruptly as it started and, as a reward, we were given six-day passes. I headed straight for home. That trip took a whole day and night. At home, I could tell my parents were proud but apprehensive. The future was a great unknown. Some now iconic photos were taken, and in the blink of an eye, I found myself back on a troop train heading for Camp Grant. The train was full of other newly minted soldiers just like me. All of them spoke excitedly about their assignments. I was still awaiting mine.
When I returned, I was called into the main office and informed that because of my scores on the intelligence tests, I had a choice: officers training school or college. I thought, If the Army was willing to send me back to college, why should I fight that? I chose college. Meanwhile, all the men around me started to leave, and before long, the place was empty. My orders finally arrived. In a surprise twist of fate, I was assigned to the 637th Medi- cal Clearing Company Separate, and start- ed intensive training until an outfit training in jungle warfare in Panama was chosen by General MacArthur to spearhead the recap- ture of the Philippines. They needed a medical attachment. The name of that fighting outfit was the 158th Bushmasters; they were formed in Arizona as a tough-as-nails, racially integrat- ed group that counted Hispanics and Ameri- can Indians among their ranks. That was the end of my Army sponsored college opportunity. I found myself on anoth- er troop train, destination unknown. All I could figure out was that we were heading west. Days went by not knowing where we were going. I slept in a three-compartment hold and stretched when we stopped for meals at Harvey House restaurants strategically placed along the route.
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Herman during Basic Training. 1943
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